We’ve somewhat come to the consensus that Viktor is probably the bad driver in the relationship, and Yuuri is the careful one. I would posit that Yuuri isn’t necessarily the most careful driver, but compared to Viktor he looks like the Poster Child for Defensive Driving.
HOWEVER, can I also suggest that where Viktor is the one who yells things like you concussed fucking antelope out of his window at drivers who cut him off, Yuuri is much more deadpan–and much more acerbic.
“Viktor,” says Yuuri, completely calm but clearly out-of-his-mind annoyed with the woman going twenty-five kilometers under the speed limit in front of them, “Can you roll down your window and ask the woman in front of us if she remembers the extinction of the dinosaurs, or if she was still in hybernation at that point?” and Viktor laughs so hard that he almost chokes.
“No, please, tell me more about your micropenis,” says Yuuri, as a driver in a very large four-door pickup with a license plate reading something like “SCKMYTRK” roars past him going seventy in a forty. Viktor’s coffee dribbles down his chin as he tries not to inhale it.
“How does it feel to know you’ve never sexually satisfied another person?” Yuuri mutters under his breath, as an SUV tailgates him on the expressway. Viktor’s mouth drops open in awe.
“I love you,” Viktor whispers, reverently.
Yuuri flashes him a smile and then, as the SUV passes him, drops into one of those patented Katsuki-Death-Glares. It’s beautiful in the same way that erupting volcanoes are.
Viktor has never loved him more.